


The Place Where We Started From

by Traincat



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:38:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/pseuds/Traincat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was exhausted, tired enough not to realize anything was out of place at first. Dark room, cool sheets, warm body. It seemed natural to fit himself against his partner’s sleeping form, to pull them closer, his hand fitted to their naked hip. They sighed, on the edge of waking, and he made a soft noise: <i>don’t bother, it’s just me.</i></p><p>The cagey feeling in his chest settled. It felt right to be here.</p><p>Then Peter remembered he wasn’t seeing anyone, definitely not anyone this toned or muscled, and his eyes flew open.</p><p>--</p><p>Three times Johnny Storm ended up in Peter Parker's bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Place Where We Started From

**Author's Note:**

> Every single time I write them I'm like, no, this is the most ridiculous and fluffiest thing I've ever written. Set during and post-Civil War II: Amazing Spider-Man #1, which if you haven't read -- run, don't walk. I cannot believe we live in a world where it is now incontrovertible canon that Johnny Storm has been naked in Peter Parker's bed.
> 
> Title from Sarah McLachlan's Ice Cream.

He was exhausted, tired enough not to realize anything was out of place at first. Dark room, cool sheets, warm body. It seemed natural to fit himself against his partner’s sleeping form, to pull them closer, his hand fitted to their naked hip. They sighed, on the edge of waking, and he made a soft noise: _don’t bother, it’s just me._

The cagey feeling in his chest settled. It felt right to be here.

Then Peter remembered he wasn’t seeing anyone, definitely not anyone this toned or muscled, and his eyes flew open.

He wasn’t sure who screamed first: him, or the very naked man in his bed.

“Lights! Who --?” Peter shouted. Bright light spilled out over the room, revealing, hair-mussed, Johnny. Johnny, standing gloriously nude by Peter’s bed with Peter’s pillow held over his crotch. “ _Johnny_?”

That, at least, explained the blazing heat of the body that had pressed against his own, the lean, hard muscles. Peter felt heat flood his face even as he gaped.

“Pete?” Johnny said, blinking. He really had been asleep – the nickname came out soft and muzzy. “Wasn’t expecting you for a couple more hours.”

Peter’s jaw was going to dislocate itself, his mouth was so far open. “So you decided to pull a Goldilocks in _my bed_?”

Now it was Johnny’s turn to blush. His shoulders hunched a little, pillow held protectively in front of him.

“I was tired!” he said, voice on the edge of a whine. He had pillow creases on his face and his hair was the farthest from perfect Peter had ever seen it. It made something twinge in Peter’s chest. “You said I’m welcome any time!”

 _Not naked, I didn’t,_ Peter opened his mouth to say, but Johnny was still talking, the heat in his cheeks angry now.

“And – and –” he said, sparks in his glare. “This used to be my house!”

The tension dropped from Peter’s shoulders. He rolled them back, head tipped to the side. He gestured, helplessly, at the pillow. “Why are you naked?”

“I’m hot-natured!” Johnny said, like it was obvious. Peter guessed it was. “It’s the only way I can sleep!”

He did look tired, now that Peter was really looking at him, smudges under his eyes and a set to his stubbled jaw Peter had never seen before. Almost ten months since Reed and Sue had disappeared. Peter knew it didn’t get any easier.

“Take that pillow off your junk,” he said, flapping a hand in the general direction of Johnny’s crotch. He turned around, eyes fixed determinedly on the opposite wall. “I put my head on that!”

“Fine.” His spider-sense gave the slightest tingle, but he stayed where he was and let the pillow hit him square in the side of the head. “ _You’re_ the one with body-shaming issues, not me.”

Peter had caught more than just a glimpse of Johnny’s body, lean muscle and long limbs and a trail of golden hair the pillow hadn’t quite managed to hide. He pressed his palms to his eyes, wishing he could go to bed. A different bed. A bed Johnny’s permanently sun-warm body hadn’t lain in, the sheets soaking up his radiant heat.

“Yes,” Peter said to the wall. “I have many, many issues. So if you could get dressed, or flame on, or something –”

There was a crackle of flame. Peter glanced over his shoulder to find the long, strong lines of Johnny’s body blurred by flame and heat.

“Man, you are such a prude,” Johnny said, arms crossed over his flaming chest. “Better?”

Peter turned toward him again. “I’ll reserve judgment until you tell me why you’re here.”

If Johnny Storm had snuck into his bed just to grab a naked nap, Peter was probably going to scream.

He couldn’t see Johnny’s face through the crackling flames, but his voice took on a distinctly I Am Extremely Disappointed In You, Peter Benjamin Parker, For Forgetting To Pick Up The Kids From Soccer Practice tone as he said, “Don’t tell me you forgot. This is your night with Ulysses. Kid with the Inhuman genes who predicts the future? You met him at Stark’s party. He sparked some… controversy over how we should use him. You wanted to hang with him, take his temperature, and since I’m tight with the Inhumans --”

Of course it was. Peter breathed out, dragging a hand through his hair. It had completely slipped his mind. “Sorry, right. I remember.” They walked out of the bedroom together, Johnny still thankfully alight. Peter tapped at his watch, costume materializing again, mask and all. “The Inhumans are bringing him over? What time is the royal family getting here?”

There came from the roof the familiar sound of a giant teleporting bulldog.

“Now,” Johnny said as they took the elevator up.

 

* * *

 

Peter waited until he was alone to collapse back in his office chair, hands over his face. He thought about the night he’d spent swinging around with Ulysses and how he’d seen the amazing accuracy of his predictions up close and personal. He remembered Ulysses’ painfully earnest face as he told Spider-Man to be careful. His head pounded. He switched the costume to a plain black shirt and pants and sunk his fingers in his hair and said, “What a mess.”

A pair of hands landed on his shoulders without the slightest twinge from his spider-sense. The palms were broad and warm and Peter didn’t have to look up to know they belonged to Johnny.

“Tell me you’re wearing clothes this time,” he said. Johnny huffed, amused.

“A shirt and pants and everything. I borrowed some,” he said. “I thought it was less conspicuous than walking around Parker Industries in my uniform.”

“You’re always conspicuous,” Peter said, breathing out. Johnny kneaded at his shoulders, massaging tight muscles. “What are you still doing here? I thought you would have left.”

“Medusa and I had… a little argument,” he said, in a tone of voice that meant he wasn’t telling Peter the whole truth. Peter opened his mouth to ask what about but cut off with a groan when Johnny turned up the temperature in his fingers and dug into a sore muscle. “You’re all knots. What happened? Did Ulysses…?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, reaching up to adjust Johnny’s magic hands where he needed them most. “He saw a friend going bad. Fighting me.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, voice soft. His hands stilled. “It’s not –”

“No,” Peter said, breathing out slow. “It’s not Harry.”

He was so relieved that it wasn’t Harry, and so guilty that he’d ever doubted him in the first place. But his and Harry’s road was a long, twisting one, and Peter had long ago learned to steel himself for danger on it. It was a hard thing to learn to drop those defenses again, to stop watching for warning signs. He thought he had managed it, but this afternoon had proved him wrong.

“Well,” Johnny said, hands moving again. Peter’s eyes drifted shut. He was so tired. “Small mercies. What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?” Peter said. “Clayton hasn’t _done_ anything yet.”

“Yet,” Johnny repeated. “You’ve seen Ulysses in action. You know he’s not wrong.”

Peter sighed, grunting a little as his shoulders finally relaxed under Johnny’s ministrations. “I can’t. I can’t think about that right now.”

“Okay,” Johnny said. His hands slid down Peter’s shoulders to his arms before he let go. “Hey. You need to get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, hands over his eyes. “That’d be nice. But I’ve got too much work to do.”

“Pete, you’re going to crash and burn,” Johnny said, kicking his chair around. He looked better than he had when Peter had found him in his bed, like he’d finally gotten some sleep. His hair was perfect again and his borrowed clothes – a plain shirt and pants – looked better on him than they ever had on Peter. Peter wondered if he’d gone back to bed afterwards, if he’d flamed off and crawled back into Peter’s bed like nothing had happened. “And I know from both crashing and burning. Get some sleep. Harry can hold down the fort.”

“I don’t want to put too much pressure on him,” Peter admitted. “Especially not now, when Clayton –”

He cut himself off, breathing out.

“Pete, you’re not helping anyone by running yourself into the ground,” Johnny said. “Go. Everything will still be here when you wake up.” When Peter hesitated, he added, “If you don’t go, I’ll drag you there myself.”

“Just as long as you don’t join me again,” Peter muttered, rising, but there was no bite to the words. “Okay. Yeah. Sleep is good. I’m going to do that. You going to hang around here?”

“Unless someone needs me,” Johnny said. Peter nodded distantly.

“Okay. Good,” he said, heading for the door. “And Johnny? Thanks for the massage.”

Johnny waggled his fingers, grinning. “I’m good, right? Any time. Sweet dreams, Pete.”

Peter made it back upstairs and fell face forward onto his bed, closing his eyes. He realized, in the moments before he fell asleep, that he was lying in the same spot Johnny had been, and that, impossibly, the sheets still seemed warm to the touch even in the cool bedroom.

He turned his face into the pillow and sighed.

 

* * *

 

Peter didn’t scream the second time he fell into his bed and found Johnny already lying there, a month or so later. He was too tired, fresh from a fight. He ached everywhere. He rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow, and said, “Just tell me you’re wearing underwear this time.”

Johnny yawned. “Yes, I remembered your delicate sensibilities. Lights – what the _hell_ , Pete?”

“You’re stealing my line,” Peter said, turning towards him and cracking open one eye. Johnny was sitting up in bed, his mouth hanging open and horror in his eyes. He was, Peter noted, actually wearing boxers. They were patterned with tiny little Spider-Man symbols, which he’d probably meant as a joke.

“What the hell happened to you?” Johnny said, gaze sweeping over Peter’s body.

“What, this?” he said, gesturing to the bruises, the abrasions, and all the other fun technical words for _ow my ribs_. “Don’t worry about it.”

Johnny gaped at him, eyebrows drawn together, and then Peter realized Johnny had never seen him mostly undressed after a fight before. All the damage had always been covered by his bright costume.

“Hey,” he said, setting a hand on Johnny’s knee, revealing his battered knuckles. “It’s okay. A lot of this will heal over night and then I’ll just limp around tomorrow. It looks worse than it is. Johnny, this is normal.”

But of course it wasn’t for Johnny, usually protected from punches and projectiles by his own flames. Johnny, who without his powers couldn’t take half the punishment Peter could shrug off. Peter squeezed his knee and tried to aim his smile for reassuring. It pulled at his half-healed split-lip.

Johnny got up, stalking out of the room with no smart remarks, no nothing. Peter struggled up on his elbows, watching him go. The skyscraper lights shining through the windows cast him in the faint glow of the city, a dozen twinkling colors. Everything in Peter’s chest ached just looking at him, a sharp, sweet pain.

“Sit up,” Johnny said when he came back, holding a damp towel and the cheap plastic first aid kit Peter had stashed under the sink. “You’re getting blood on the sheets.”

“You really don’t have to –” Peter said, starting to sit up as Johnny sat down on the edge of the bed. The first touch of the cool damp towel against his face, mopping the blood and grit from the edge of his jaw, shut him up.

It had been a very long time since he’d had anyone to clean his wounds.

“I kind of do,” Johnny said. “I don’t have anywhere else to go tonight, and you’re pretty gross right now.”

“There are guest bedrooms,” Peter said. Johnny touched careful fingers beneath his chin, softly giving the order for brighter lights. He tilted Peter’s face up and hissed. Peter wrapped his fingers around Johnny’s wrist, squeezing. “I’m really okay.”

“I don’t know how your face still looks as good as it does, if this is normal,” Johnny said. He wiped crusted blood from Peter’s lip, achingly gentle. Peter didn’t know why he was surprised; Johnny had been like this around him for months, ever since the blow up at the Baxter Building, like he was trying to single-handedly keep Peter from falling apart.

Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one falling apart.

“What did you mean,” he asked as Johnny quietly patched him up, wiping off dried blood and sweat and grit, “you don’t have anywhere else to go tonight?”

“I wasn’t serious,” Johnny said. “I could crash with one of the Unity Squad, I guess, but I don’t really feel like testing Rogue’s hospitality and if I have to spend one more night on Dorrie Evans’ couch hearing about her divorce...”

“Johnny, that’s not what I asked,” Peter said. Johnny sighed. “Why aren’t you on New Attilan?”

Johnny sighed, gaze fixed on the impressively ugly bruising decorating Peter’s left shoulder where he’d been slammed, repeatedly, against the ground. “You know why. It’s over. Medusa and I called it off.”

“Oh,” Peter said, simply, wincing a little as Johnny tended to his shoulder. _Sorry_ , he almost said, but he realized with a guilty twist that he wasn’t. Johnny’s secret relationship with Queen Medusa had never sat right with him. The furtive glances and the split-second imaginings of long tendrils of hair wrapped tight around Johnny’s wrist or brushing his cheek made something ugly bloom in Peter’s chest. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“She tried to end it before, you know?” Johnny said. His gaze was fixed on Peter’s injuries. “I was too stubborn. I – I didn’t want to be alone. She knows me, you know? She was on the Fantastic Four, back in the day. Being with her… I could pretend, sometimes, that I was home.”

“And she’s beautiful,” Peter said before he could stop himself. Johnny snorted.

“Now who’s the shallow one?” he teased, picking up Peter’s hand in his own. He dabbed at his knuckles with disinfectant. “She was right. It was never going to work. She’s a queen, and she has to put her people first. A human consort’s a no-go.” He sighed, head bent over Peter’s hand, a hot rush of breath against Peter’s skin. “It’s my fault. I wanted too much from her. She tried, and I just…”

“Hey,” Peter said. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

Johnny smiled, shrugging. “Also, Crys found out.”

“Ouch,” Peter said, snickering in spite of himself. “See, this is why you don’t date sisters.”

“Yeah, yeah, because your romantic life is so great,” Johnny teased, finishing with Peter’s hand. “Get up, I want to change the sheets. _Some_ of us are civilized people who aren’t used to sleeping in bloodstains and what I’m assuming are pieces of a wall.”

“It was a ceiling I got thrown through, thanks,” Peter said, getting up.

He watched as Johnny stripped the bed and fetched new sheets, fitting them to the mattress with quick efficiency. One messy lock of hair fell in his eyes. His back was all smooth, unmarred skin. The boxers he wore looked silky to the touch.

“What?” Johnny asked, glancing up.

“I wasn’t sure you knew how to make a bed,” Peter said. “I thought you all had robot maids for that kind of thing.”

Johnny snorted, settling the pillows back into place. “Yeah, no. Sue had kind of a thing about us doing our own housework. Said we’d never know when we might need it. Guess she was right; no more robot maids for the Human Torch.”

He glanced up at Peter again, lip caught between his teeth as his eyes swept over Peter’s injuries.

“Hey, Peter?” he said. “You know you’re all I have, right?”

Peter let out a breath, feeling like he’d been punched. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, Johnny on his own. He knelt on the bed, holding out his hand for Johnny to take. “I know. I get it. I’ll be more careful.”

“You won’t,” Johnny said with a tiny hint of teasing, squeezing Peter’s fingers before letting go. “You’ve never been careful, ever, not one single day in your whole weird life.”

“I will be, I promise,” Peter said, lying down gingerly on his less injured side. For a second he thought Johnny might go – might leave the building or just go find a guest room, but then Johnny climbed back onto the bed, grabbing the TV remote from the bedside table and ordering the lights off. Darkness flooded the room. Peter’s eyes drifted shut.

“Do you mind? I can’t sleep right now. I can keep the volume on low.”

“S’fine,” Peter said, reaching out to clumsily pat Johnny’s thigh. Half his hand landed on soft, silky fabric and half met warm skin. Johnny made a very quiet noise, something Peter was too tired to dwell on. “You know, right?”

“Know what?” Johnny asked, flipping the TV on. Peter heard the opening music for a late night talk show.

“You’re all I have too,” Peter said, hand slipping down to squeeze at Johnny’s knee.

“Mmhm,” Johnny said. “Tell that to your other best friend.”

“That’s different,” Peter said, yawning. “Harry doesn’t know about Spider-Man, and you – you know every part of me.”

There was a long pause and then Johnny’s hand settled on Peter’s head, fingers carding through his hair. His touch felt like stepping out of a cold building into bright summer sunlight. “Go to sleep, Pete.”

 

* * *

 

The third time it was Peter who tumbled them down, laughing, onto his mattress. Johnny captured his mouth as soon as Peter climbed on top of him, the kiss searing. He rolled them over so he was on top. The entire world spun, giddily, as Peter tried to remember the last time he’d seen Johnny smile like that, bright and careless.

It had been that smile that had started the whole thing. Parker Industries had been attacked, Peter caught off-guard, and then there Johnny was, a whirlwind of fire. They’d won easily after that and Johnny had flamed off and smiled at Peter and Peter had kissed him. It had seemed like the obvious thing to do.

Possibly he shouldn’t have done it in front of the interns, but that was something for someone else to worry about.

“Do you know how long?” Johnny said, pulling Peter’s shirt open. A button tore; Peter considered it no great loss. “Do you have _any idea_ \--?”

“No,” Peter admitted, bringing Johnny down for another kiss.

“Years,” Johnny said, pressing his forehead to Peter’s. “ _Years._ ”

Peter’s hands slipped over the slick feeling of Johnny’s costume, the ribbed patches at the sides. He tugged at the raised flame insignia. “I hope it doesn’t take me that long to figure out how to get you out of this. What is this even made of?”

“No idea,” Johnny said, shedding pieces. The gloves went first, then the top half. Peter had seen all of this before – Johnny, naked in his bed – but this was different. He let his eyes linger on Johnny’s hard muscles, the flawless skin. He swept his hands up Johnny’s sides, closing his eyes at the sheer warmth of him.

“You’re going to be really annoying to spoon with in the summer, huh?” he said before he could stop himself. Johnny’s grin was blinding.

“Oh, making plans for the _summer_?” he said, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his pants. “Why Mr. Parker, I do declare.”

“Shut up!” Peter said, laughing.

“Oh, babe,” Johnny said, laughing bright and free. Something caught in Peter’s chest. “You know there is like, zero chance of that.”

He sat up, keeping a tight hold on Johnny so he ended up in Peter’s lap, and tilted his head up to kiss him again. He didn’t know how it was possible that he’d never kissed Johnny before today; now it seemed like their lips were magnetic. Peter couldn’t stop touching him.

“Yeah?” Peter asked, toppling them over again. Johnny crowed with delight, legs spread so Peter could fall between them. “I bet I can manage it.”

 

* * *

 

“You need a bigger bed,” Johnny said, lying half on top of Peter. Peter hooked an arm around his waist and pulled him even closer, one of Johnny’s legs sliding between his own.

“This is the first complaint I’m hearing,” Peter said, fingers tapping a beat against the base of Johnny’s spine. “I was under the impression you liked this bed.”

“I starfish out,” Johnny said.

“I noticed,” Peter said, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t want to kick you out of bed,” Johnny said.

“I’d like to see you try,” Peter said. Johnny’s eyes sparkled at the challenge. Peter kissed him again before he could get any ideas. “Hey, okay. I’ve got to know.”

“You’ve seen everything,” Johnny said. “You know this is my real hair color.”

“Shhhh, stop,” Peter said, kissing Johnny once more. Johnny laughed against his mouth, muttering, ‘how am I supposed to answer if you keep doing this?’ until Peter disentangled them, sitting up in bed. “This whole showing up in my bed in various states of undress thing – was that about this?”

Johnny propped himself up on one elbow, staring up at Peter. He raised his hand and rocked it from side to side. “Yes and no.”

“Kind of hoping for a little more of an answer here,” Peter said when Johnny didn’t elaborate. “I mean. You showed up naked in my bed.”

“And you told me to put clothes on,” Johnny said, raising his eyebrows.

“My mistake,” said Peter. “Johnny.”

Johnny sighed, dropping his gaze to the sheets. “I’m not going to pretend that part of it wasn’t because it was your bed, and I liked how it smelled like you.”

“Smells like me?” Peter said, teasing. “Rugged? Masculine? Like that expensive cologne May and Jay got me for my birthday and something uniquely me?”

“Like web fluid and cheap shampoo,” Johnny shot back. “No, I don’t know, I just. Sleep’s been… it’s been rough. There’s a lot of things I end up thinking about in the dark, and when I’m here – I don’t know. It’s easier.”

“Johnny,” Peter said, sliding closer to him. Johnny sat up so they could lean together, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh.

“But it wasn’t just you,” he said. “It’s this building. I’ve lived here since I was 16, Pete – this is the best home I’ve ever known.”

“I’m just holding it safe,” Peter said. “I told you that.”

Johnny punched his arm. “Shut up, it’s your home too. It has been since I left you my spot on the team. That’s how I know you get it – there’s something about this place. It’s special.”

Peter did get it; it was part of why he’d fought so hard and bid so high against players who were, at the time, much bigger than Parker Industries. The idea of the Baxter Building, this home filled with so much love and warmth and adventure, in the clutches of Roxxon or Alchemax had been too much to bear, so he’d upped the bidding every time despite Harry and Anna Maria’s cringing and Sajani’s creatively worded threats. He loved this place, too. It was safe with him.

“I,” he started, but this time it was Johnny’s turn to shush, his hand over Peter’s mouth.

“This is my home,” Johnny said, fingertips to Peter’s lips. Peter kissed them. “I don’t care who’s in it. I don’t care how many times it gets torn down or rebuilt or shot into space. This building, right here, is always going to be my home.”

“I know,” Peter said. “And you should live here.”

Johnny blinked, and then smiled, slow and sweet. “Really? Just like that? After our last disastrous living together phase?”

Peter caught Johnny’s hand in his own, pressing his lips to the center of Johnny’s palm.  “Don’t care, go wild, invite all your Universal Inhuman friends and have a gigantic toga party in the building if it makes you happy.” Johnny laughed out loud, delighted. Peter twisted their fingers together, squeezing. “Just don’t do it in R&D. Or anywhere with important things. Or, hey, I know – throw it in Harry’s office.”

Later they were going to have to leave this room and go back to a world where Peter still felt caught wrong-footed and off-balance, and where Johnny’s family was beyond his reach. Right now, though, in this room, in this building, things felt right.

“I’m going to,” Johnny said, leaning in to kiss Peter. “But you really do need a bigger bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](traincat.tumblr.com) for more spideytorch!


End file.
